Apples (14 page)

Do you think Dad’ll borrow me some money? I asked from the back of the Vauxhall. I crossed my legs in those tight school trousers, watching white chemical factories whizz past the window. I could hardly tell what was smoke and what was mist.

For what? Natasha asked. She was ever so bossy now Mam was out of action and now she was married.

Friday night, I said simply. I think Rach and Debbie and everyone’s going to Empire or somewhere.

Natasha just shrugged and sighed, and I breathed breath on the glass. Laura shivered in her furry coat, just as we reached South Bank and the sign that said FROM HOPE TO REALITY. I didn’t get it – South Bank was still pretty scruffy. All the terraces looked like they were lined with sharks’ teeth, the jagged glass being there to keep out intruders and other unsavouries. We used to feel grown-up letting ourselves into our dad’s new pad at weekends – he always made pizza and chips for us and sometimes took us down Redcar for a play on the beach or a cassette out of Woolworth’s. We used to write our names big in the sand, stamping out the letters on tippy-toes. Such fun.

The industry smell must’ve reminded her; Natasha pulled up on Costa Street then suddenly went, Shit, I’d better get petrol actually.

Can I let myself in first? I went, leaning into the gap between sisters. Natasha nodded, then sped off into the night as I hopped onto the concrete. Costa Street was nasty – a lot of the houses were boarded up like in Beechwood, but at least we had a view over the playing field not an orangey scrapyard. Saying that, there were a few kids out playing and the streetglow was glinting on the rusty metal and I smiled to myself. The fog was clearing. I tried to quietly unlock Dad’s door – it’d been ages since he’d seen us and I liked that element of surprise. Even though I didn’t like her Liz was quite canny – she always forced us tea and stuff, but we were the classic stepdaughters and just grunted through any conversation. I stepped out of my school shoes in the hallway then snuck along in green SEXY BABE socks, following the sound of the telly. Spotting a twenty-pound note on the shelf, I smiled thinking Dad must be loaded although there was also a box of Benson and I thought he might’ve stopped smoking after Mam and everything. I curled my face and rehearsed what I’d say to him. I held my breath and I jumped, but I jumped into an empty living room. The television was talking to itself – often you had to do that to ward off burglars, but Dad hardly went out on weekdays and in any case I could hear a bit of mumbling upstairs. I wasn’t fussed about watching
EastEnders
so I snuck out the lounge again, going upstairs like a kitty on the prowl. That reminded me of the Medusa night – we still had to return those cat ears and tails, all stained with drink and kisses. At the top of the stairs the noises stopped. Their bedroom door was a bit ajar and I started pushing it open until I spotted them in the mirror shagging each other on the double bed. Liz was on top and her white tits shook while my dad tried to keep going underneath. He was blowing out air like a factory, his hairy legs dead tensed under Liz’s bum. It was the first time I’d seen them naked, and I didn’t stand there that long. Yuck! Feeling dizzy, I pushed my eyes shut then sneaked downstairs, absolutely plagued. I felt ill perching on the bottom step, as if my dad was cheating on Mam while she was having her body zapped, except he wasn’t. I put my knees together while I sat there, wondering if I could really ask Dad and Liz for money now I’d seen them fucking. I decided to forget it. But I only had brown pennies in my Halifax account, and there was no chance of babysitting little Nicole really or doing any jobs for Mam. Then suddenly I remembered Dad’s twenty on the hall shelf and I just could not resist it. What a naughty girl. I guessed it was better to be greedy than sad, so I reached and slipped the money in my Duffer pocket, then stepped into the foggy light and waited on the kerb for Laura and Natasha. I tried to be silent as I could. The whole of Teesside was humming brown, black and tangerine and I looked through the mist for the outline of roofs and power stations. Sooner or later it got boring on your own – while I sat a couple of kids pretended to ride over my toes on their BMXs, which was just charming. I touched the twenty in my jacket then popped my cheeks out as Natasha pulled up again in the Vauxhall.

Isn’t he in? she asked, jumping out. She walked round checking all the car doors were locked, but I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to steal that piece of rubbish. It was nothing like Fairhurst’s Citroën with the alloys and the big exhaust and the dump valves and all that other stuff that goes whoosh and zoom. The word dump used to make me laugh though. I lifted myself from the kerb then straightened my trousers and said, Yeah, he’s upstairs. He’s shagging Liz!

I said it with a bit of a smile. All Laura could do was raise her eyebrow, and she went, You’re full of shit.

I just shrugged it off like a cool dude. Shaking her head, Natasha clopped her Nike trainers over the pavement then knocked hard on the cardboard door. We had his keys, but I think Natasha was scared of his hairy legs after all. We stood running our fingers through our hair while we waited, and Natasha laughed out of her nose when Dad appeared in just his bathrobe. It was dead obvious. He lifted his curly eyebrows then smiled, recognising us in the fog, but he didn’t look that flustered. I could well imagine Liz spread-eagled upstairs, keeping the bed warm.

Hi girls – I wasn’t expecting to see youse round here, Dad said, letting us in.

Well no, Natasha mumbled, and inside we all burst out laughing but kept a straight face. I kicked off my shoesies again and went back into the living room. Dad ran upstairs to finish something while we made ourselves comfy, and I tried to keep my mind on
EastEnders
instead of the twenty. We squashed up on the patterned sofa, tapping each other and giggling. I put the tips of blonde fringe in my mouth, then felt my stomach turn over even though we’d gone for the KFC.

You hungry or something, Laura laughed, so I took it out. We all had our new haircuts. When Dad and Liz finally came into the lounge, they were wearing their casuals but I couldn’t help still imagining them naked. Knowing it was wrong only made me think about it more.

Eve, didn’t you want to ask Dad something? Natasha went, nudging me and I felt my cheeks blow up. At first I thought she meant the sex, then I remembered the money and said softly, Oh. Naw. It doesn’t matter now.

Natasha lifted the sides of her mouth – she thought I wasn’t a selfish cow any more, but actually I was a bit worse than that. All I wanted was to go out on Friday night but, as I crossed my legs on the scratchy sofa, I wondered if I’d cursed it. I felt a bit weird around my dad, but not because of the sex – in fact I thought it was pretty cool him and Liz had a good shag life. I hoped I would at that age. I sat there and curled the note in my fingers, and I said to myself I’d find a nice bloke and I’d have good sex with him too. And I’d never steal again.

Abi took me out on Friday. I had to let my hair down, but in fact I gelled it up with the Brylcreem and threw on the new shirt I bought over the Christmas period. That number I wore at the disco got all caked in blood, but instead of sticking it in the washing-machine I chucked it over nextdoor’s fence and went on my own to Marks and Sparks when I got out of hospital. Funnily enough the shirt I pipped for was maroon, so I wouldn’t make the same mistake again. I didn’t like spending money and I was totally clueless when it came to fashion – I considered asking Abi to take me round those trendy boutiques down Linthorpe Road, but they were way too expensive and in any case I wasn’t hip enough for those extravagant garments. My face was still a bit contorted from all the beatings, and I could bend my nose now like it was a rubber dildo.

Everything I did over that time was wrapped in woolly sadness. I was sort of sulking in the back of the taxi with Abigail, but she kept touching my leg and chattering away and I didn’t mean to be annoying. She was being nice to me. The Paki in the front kept looking at us as Abi talked and talked, and I still enjoyed her gossip even though I’d heard most of it two or three times already. Now and then when she wasn’t looking the driver stared down her blouse. She was telling me about Claire Blame getting pregnant, Rachel her cousin shagging Dan Williams after the disco, and how there were tons of boys at school on drugs and stuff. I felt so boring – for example the Beatles had done all sorts of narcotics and even they were quite clean-cut at the beginning of the sixties. My wildest moment was probably getting Eve to dance with me and then not doing anything.

It was about eight or eight thirty when we got to the Royal Exchange, and we chipped in a few pound for the pervert Paki then walked in separately. It was nerve-wracking with all the bouncers staring you up and down, and I feared getting turned away or even receiving another hiding. I’d become a complete fanny, but Abi looked after me. We squashed past tracksuits and shirts to some seats near the back, drinking lagers and Smirnoffs and screaming in each other’s ears. Now and then I tried to say something funny but she never quite caught it. Loads of lads in there were pumped up on steroids – you could tell by the square shoulders and blockheads and tiny cocks. I avoided eye-contact. I wondered why people would want to come out to kick each other’s heads in, rather than having a good time. But I guessed it was the same as me coming out all depressed and nervous – some people are nutcases.

‘So you reckon your Rachel and them might be out tonight?’ I yelled at Abi, and she nodded. I was more interested in Eve – just laying eyes on her was like reaching enlightenment, or at least it made me wee my pants. But I guessed she only went out with musclebound pricks, the type that give you protection but also chlamydia and other odd things. I glanced about the bar again, and all round us the boys looked like they wanted to throttle each other. I watched
Raging Bull
in the Christmas holiday, and I practised punching the wall and lifting my bed-frame but I only knacked myself. I tried to build myself up by stuffing my face and using the skipping-rope, but if anyone saw me I might as well have been a little girl in a daisy garden. One afternoon I was getting frustrated in the bathroom, throwing punches at the silly cunt in the mirror, and I ended up putting my hand through it. Blood ran down my knuckles like strawberry sauce on a sundae, and I went back into my bedroom with seven years’ bad luck.

‘You alright, honey?’ Abi asked, rubbing my thigh. It caught me off guard and a bit of Carling went down the wrong way; I tried not to splutter it all over her. I gasped and smiled. I was a stupid idiot. Abi was giving me all these strange come-hither signals, but she had loads of admirers at school and there was no reason for her making a move on me. I had mashed potato for a head. To be honest I thought she was taking the piss out of me and I found her faintly irritating.

Abi kind of screwed her face up, then flipped a Regal out of her bag and sucked on that instead. I watched her blow the sky out of her mouth. Ever since the disco incident I had a shopping list of things to do to get macho, for instance drinking, smoking, muscles, haircut, clothes, swearing, pumping. It’s weird sometimes having to be fake just to get what you want, but everyone’s doing it. I never really wanted to smoke in my life, but I had to start somewhere and I went to Abi, ‘Can I get a bit of that?’

I nodded at the Regal, and she crunched her forehead then passed it over. I headrushed. Burny used to slag off kids on the playground never taking any of the smoke back, but I was swallowing it all down my gullet and it was sickening. On programmes like
Saved by the Bell
or
Neighbours
it’s always the geeks who cough out the first puff – I resisted the temptation but my throat was spasming and I was obviously screwing my face up. I sat there and smoked away without inhaling at all. I felt the big man.

And just then Eve and the girls wandered in. I got a twisty feeling in my tummy, looking at them all dressed to kill and not knowing what to do with myself. I just sat and tried to hold the Regal in a charismatic way. I wondered if I should keep glancing or play hard to get or muscle my way over, but in the end it was Abi who did the honours. Abi held my hand as we swept over to the bar – I wanted to look like I was going out with her and not at the same time. Luckily I dragged my pint with us so I had something to do while Abi hugged Rachel and chatted and pretended I didn’t exist. I kept playing with the cuffs of the maroon shirt and I hated myself for it. I couldn’t keep still. After a bit I realised Eve was catching my eye, and as she came over I got in a whirl of nerves and emotion and the neon lights began twirling.

‘Is that a ladder in your tights or a stairway to heaven / Did it hurt when you fell from heaven / Get your coat love you’ve pulled,’ is what I could’ve said, but instead there was silence and I went, ‘Er hello.’

‘Hey, how you doing?’ she asked, her eyes hovering a little on my scabs. By accident my hand went up there, but that was pretty scabby too after the incident with the mirror. At least the eye-patch was gone – I’d stayed at home while I was getting healed, but even odd jaunts to Easterside Bells resulted in Pretty Polly and peg-leg jokes.

‘Not too bad. You having a good night?’ I asked, shifting from foot to foot. At home in your dreams it seems so easy to come across as a Cary Grant type full of one-liners, but in reality I could hardly speak to anyone without quaking or trying to hide behind the sofa.

‘Yeah, it’s okay. Who you out with?’ Eve asked, and I pointed at Abigail Ellis. ‘Are youse an item then?’

‘Naw,’ I said. Eve was absolutely stunning; she was born with Barbie bones and Sindy curves, whereas I felt more like a plastic dog-crap. For all I knew some hard-case was about to come and knock my block off again. And I carried on flinching and twitching.

‘You’re not still bothered about Gaz, are you?’ she went. I wondered if it was that obvious I was a mental patient. She grabbed the side of my face so I could hear in all the noise, and went to me, ‘Don’t worry about him. He’s a dick.’